


this little space inside me

by NaroMoreau



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Crowley's Name is Crawly | Crawley (Good Omens), First Time, Huddling For Warmth, Just a excuse to porn really, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Noah's Ark, Sharing a Bed, The last unicorn? Blame it on Shem, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:54:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25234240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaroMoreau/pseuds/NaroMoreau
Summary: The days grow cold aboard the Ark and Aziraphale refuses to see Crowley discorporate because of that even when they don't know each other well. They grow closer but everything gets challenged when the Ark docks. How can they reconcile that with their future?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 33
Kudos: 319
Collections: Top Aziraphale Recs





	this little space inside me

The rain came and kept coming. A downpour in stacatto, pattering against the gopher wood and wrenching Aziraphale's nerves apart. Even with the pitch slathered over the hull, the small compartment kept getting colder and colder.

"How many more days?" Crawly asks, seemingly bored to his teeth, pushing more hay under his mat.

"Just thirty more or so."

Crawly sighs. 

They've been sharing that cavernous, dark warren of a place for more than a week. Seeing the waters rise steadily over rural villages and swaths of land, has drilled a hole in Aziraphale's inner core. And there he allows himself to mourn.

"I can't with all the swaying," Crawly says, rubbing his hands over his arms."I just-- I wish this would stop."

_ So do I _ , Aziraphale thinks with a bitter tang. He feels sick half the time, his stomach swinging unmoored, as the Ark thrashes against the endless sea far from any land. Yet it's his job and Principalities don't complain. 

"How are the children?" He asks instead.

Crawly props on his elbows and regards him a wary look. "As fine as they can be all things considered."

Aziraphale knows Crawly doesn't trust him still. It had been a shock to find the urchins hiding under Crawly's mantle, and Aziraphale had been quite combative at first.

But then Crawly turned and gave him a knife.  _ "Kill them yourself if you want, Principality of the Eastern Gate _ ," he'd said with frost bitten words. 

And for all that Aziraphale knows it's far from the plan, for all that he loathes the idea of stray from his path, he looked at Crawly's eyes, gold and rich as honey mead and relented. Disarmed and confused.

He doesn't like to feel this way. 

The space is scant; the hay under their mats, insufficient, and miracles can't be thrown carelessly anymore. 

They'd used enough to secure the children.

So they idly wait, in the most human form as the days grow longer and the Ark sails adrift. 

"Care to share the wine,?" Crawly asks, reaching a clay cup in Aziraphale's direction. 

Aziraphale pours a generous amount from the wineskin and makes the same for himself. 

"Isn't it like-- forbidden for your lot to drink spirituous beverages?" Crawly asks.

"Well-- not exactly. There's no norm or rule saying I can't," Aziraphale says, palating the wine. "It's just frowned upon."

"Why?"

" _ Because _ ," Aziraphale says tersily. Crawly's eyes seem to sear into his soul. Waiting. It's a bit unnerving. Finally Aziraphale concedes. "My superiors think it can make you forget your tasks. Fail in your duty."

"Looks to me you're doing a fine job," says Crawly without a speck of malice.

Aziraphale's heart trips over unnecessary beats. 

"Do  _ you _ think so?

"Of course. Got everyone here in one piece. Managed to survive yourself and no one noticed your interference. Sounds spectacular in my books."

Something inside Aziraphale lights at the praise, like a pale ray of a fast sunrise vanishing unwanted shadows. 

"Th-thank you." Aziraphale's cheeks turn pink. 

Crawly shrugs.

They drink in silence and Aziraphale finds himself wondering. For the handful of times he's crossed paths with Crawly, he's still a mystery to him.

He steals a glance at the demon. He's currently braiding the hair of his left side, long, elegant fingers carding through strands of flaming mane. Aziraphale is fascinated with the rust-red tresses draping over Crawly's shoulders.

The light slanting from the miracled orb makes it look like liquid fire. He  _ is  _ rather beautiful, Aziraphale thinks; that hair, those eyes, the freckles over fair cheeks. Aziraphale's stomach knots like a ball of badly tangled yarn and a breath catches in his throat. He should stop with the  _ ogling _ . 

A shiver wrecking Crawly's slender figure draws Aziraphale's attention.

"Are you cold?"

"No. Not at all." Crawly hunkers further into his tunic, pulling his own cloak over him, as if he wanted to cover every inch of skin with a piece of fabric.

"Come now, Crawly, don't be ridiculous. Are you cold?"

The demon looks at him with something akin to embarrassment.

"Uhg. Fine. Yes! Bloody stupid serpent am I."

Aziraphale doesn't actually know a lot about ophidians but he remembers to have seen the adders in Eden basking under the sun, and disappearing at the minimum decrease in temperature. And days have become rather cold of late.

"Why didn't you say something?" Aziraphale asks with perhaps a smidge more of concern than necessary.

"Didn't see the point, really."

"I don't have a cloak or anything on me." Aziraphale ponders until he reaches port to an idea. "We could always take a blanket from the children-"

"Absolutely not," says the demon with a steely voice. His teeth are now chattering and he's rubbing his hands together.

"Crawly, why do you have to be so fastidious?"

"M' not! Just-- don't worry about it. Okay, angel?"

"You could discorporate!"

Aziraphale is not exactly sure that's true but the way Crawly's lip have lost their pretty crimson color and are now a purple gradient is terrifying _. _

"Why do  _ you _ care?"

The question bounces on every wall and here, trapped as they are, it doesn't have anywhere to go. 

"Well, it'd be a rather boring jaunt if I'm left to argue with the animals," Aziraphale says, trying to convince himself.

Crawly laughs.

"Fair enough. But I'm not taking a blanket from  _ my _ children."

There's an idea scraping the back of Aziraphale's head that's now perched on his tongue, stubbornly refusing to go down when he swallows. And so he mutters, "We could always share."

"Share what?"

"Heat."

Crawly quirks a brow. "How?"

Aziraphale doesn't know why he feels as if his insides were in a complete riot against himself. It wasn't personal. It wasn't. 

He moves over to his mat and pats the place next to him. "Come here."

Crawly's eyes shine like gold, his mouth forming an 'o'. He looks impossibly innocent and Aziraphale's gut swarms with butterflies flapping in uproar.

Crawly saunters to Aziraphale, with  _ narrow _ ,  _ narrow _ hips, and sits, pulling from his cloak even further.

"See, now, we can lay down and I- I can hold you-- if you're amenable, that is-- and I- I think you'll be quite fine soon."

"Okay."

No arguments. No questions.

A jab of something fiercely resemblant of protectiveness pierces Aziraphale through. He takes a breath before continuing. 

"Now, dear, lay on your side so-- so I can hold you." 

Crawly does as told and Aziraphale, heart a wild mess, does the same. He slings an arm over Crawly's middle, brushing his skin on the way. 

"Oh, Crawly, you're freezing!"

Aziraphale pulls Crawly's cloak over the both of them and presses his shins to Crawly's calves, pulls the demon whole against him and regrets it a second too late.

Crawly shudders and burrows deeper into Aziraphale's embrace.

"Oh, angel, this feels  _ good _ ."

And then he moans. 

Aziraphale isn't one to walk with an Effort dangling around, mainly because he hasn't needed it in a while, but right now, feeling Crawly's buttocks flush to his groin he has to actively block his corporation to manifest one. 

"You really don't mind if we sleep like this, angel?"

Aziraphale curls his toes. He's a soldier of God. He can wade through this unscathed. He _ knows _ . 

"No, dear, it's perfectly fine."

He hasn’t touched anyone in an era. Not since Adam offered him a quaint little fruit, grazing his hand while doing so. And this. This is heaven sent in a demon form. And who says God doesn’t work in mysterious ways? She does, Aziraphale is sure, She does. 

Two heartbeats pass, the stretch of a halted breath Aziraphale denies himself. His nose is almost buried in Crawly's hair, and he can't help but take a gulp of air, laden with scents of wild flowers and cinnamon. He bites the inside of his cheek to stymie the stream of sensations threatening to sail south. 

In his arms,  _ his, his _ , Crawly shudders and presses himself tighter, hips grinding, feet lacing feet. Aziraphale says nothing, humming deep in his chest, cradling this soft coil of a snake, all bite, no venom, like a gift. 

“Angel?”

“Yes, Crawly?”

“I-- I-- What’s  _ this _ ?”

“What’s what, dear?”

Crawly turns, now facing him, amber eyes alight, and takes Aziraphale’s hand placing it over his Effort now firm and throbbing.

Aziraphale’s first impulse is to pull away, to remove himself but he doesn’t want to be rude and Crawly already looks as shaken as one could. He feels the thread of his control, snapping, his own Effort materializing between his legs. And it’s already hard. Oh God, it’s hard. 

“You don’t know?” Aziraphale breaths.

“Nobody knows much about humans down there,” Crawly rasps like some sort of apology and his voice scrapes Aziraphale’s spine. 

“Oh, dear.” Aziraphale wants to recoil, he doesn’t want to take an unfair advantage of this demon at his mercy. “I think-- I think you should--” Aziraphale shifts the angle of his hand, wanting to move away, but Crawly clasps his wrist. 

“No,” Crawly pleads. “Please. This feels--  _ right _ .”

“Crawly, this is not-- I don’t--”

Crawly presses a pair of soft,  _ terribly soft _ lips against his, the one holy damp sensation Aziraphale won’t complain about. It feels  _ meant _ . Impossibly sweet. Aziraphale considers the weight, the warmth of the body bracketed by him, that divine ache in his low belly. 

But Crawly doesn’t know. And this is something Aziraphale won’t do. 

“ _ I can’t,”  _ he says, freeing his hand, placing it gently over Crawly’s chest. “You don’t know what you’re doing, dear-- I can’t.”

“Then teach me,” Crawly says as if anything, the pad of a thumb over Aziraphale’s cheek. “ _ I trust you _ .”

And Aziraphale, incorregible idiot that he is, shatters in pieces burrowed under wood.

His mouth is all over Crawly’s now, and he pulls the demon closer with a hand that follows the curve of a trim waist, swallowing every hitching breath. There’s something properly unhinged in his own need, and something still guarded painted in the demon’s face. 

They disrobe together goading each other with soft moans and garbled praises and then Crawly closes elegant fingers around Aziraphale’s cock and sends him reeling. His fingers card through the whole length of Crawly’s hair, pulling perhaps, tugging more likely. Aziraphale follows the slope of Crawly’s throat with lips made for this task, for this exact purpose, aeons ago, feeling the demon’s prick twitching against his thigh. 

“Oh Crawly, you’re beautiful, dear, so beautiful,” he says, crushing words against the freckles of Crawly’s skin. 

“ _Angel--_ _angel_ , I want--” He pleads, grinding against Aziraphale.

"Let me take care of you, dear boy.”

Aziraphale turns him gently on his back, and perches atop him, carefully, plush thighs encasing narrow hips. 

“If you want to stop, at any minute, just say so,” he whispers in the demon’s ear.

Crawly nods, eyes ablaze. 

Aziraphale places a kiss on the sweet, soft spot where Crawly’s jaw unhinges when he moans - a low drawn sound that makes Aziraphale rut against him.

Their cocks glide against each other and Aziraphale is gasping, kissing the arch of a brow, the angle of a clavicle. He feels their joined slicks daubing their stomachs as he kisses the demon trapped beneath him.

"Aziraphale," Crawly warbles, "more, please,  _ more _ ."

And the angel complies. Even though he hasn't done this before, having just some quick words from Gabriel's part as a whole instruction in this department. 

He sucks his own fingers, spits in them, and rubs them around Crawly's hole. The demon arches in a perfect curve, clasping Aziraphale's shoulders and the angel dares to nudge a finger inside him.

Crawly gasps.

"Is this-- it hurts," he says.

"I-- I don't know, dear, I've never done this before," Aziraphale says lazily thrusting inside Crawly. "I can-- I'll stop."

"No!" Crawly reaches a hand between them, clasping his wrist again. "I can help."

Aziraphale doesn't have time to find out what he means when he feels one of Crawly's long fingers sliding along his. 

His jaw goes slack, watching Crawly fucking his arse using both their hands, chest heaving. Aziraphale's cock throbs desperately, grinding against Crawly's stomach, and he has lost all ability to speak aside low growls and half sobs.

"Can-- can you add another?" Crawly asks him, blushing, and  _ God _ , if he isn't the most beautiful creature Aziraphale has ever seen in Heaven or Earth.

"Another?"

Crawly takes his free hand and pushes a digit inside Aziraphale's mouth and coates it in his saliva and the angel catches on pretty quick.

He adds another finger, sliding inside to the second knuckle and follows Crawly's lead while fucking him.

Aziraphale's heart is hammering away, a tingling sensation all over him and beneath every cry and grunt, every rub and brackish taste of Crawly's skin, a steady, building sensation he hasn't experienced before.

And then he curls his fingers, going deeper, and Crawly sobs-- moans-- grunts, clenching around him, and pulling at his hair. There's something sticky spilled between them but he doesn't have time to consider because soon enough sparks pop behind his eyelids and Aziraphale feels his spine bursting, exploding, with the most absolutely brain wrecking pleasure he has ever felt. 

His head falls over Crawly's shoulder, both of them panting in each other's scents. Aziraphale pulls his fingers out of Crawly and rolls to his side.

"That was good, angel," Crawly breaths. "It was amazing."

"Yes, dear, it certainly was."

There's a mess of white all over their abdomens that Crawly looks at fascinated. Aziraphale knows this. He remembers from his talk with Gabriel.

So he tells Crawly, watching his eyes going wide.

Aziraphale snaps them clean, completely impervious of the sure rude notes coming his way for frivolous miracles. Too exhausted to care.

"They're going to reprimand you, angel," Crawly says softly.

"I can take a note, dear, it's alright." 

"Perhaps-- perhaps next time you could put your cock inside me, come in me?" Crawly croaks unsure and Aziraphale feels himself going hard again at the thought. "To avoid the cleaning?"

Aziraphale laughs. "Sounds like an excellent plan."

He pulls the cloak over them and if he pushes his luck warming the entire room, well, he's getting a celestial reprimand anyway.

* * *

It's been almost twenty days.

Aziraphale rocks his hips, pushing deeper into Crawly. The demon's legs rest over Aziraphale's shoulders as he goes impossibly deeper. 

"Oh, Crawly, dear, you feel so good, so tight for me, my darling." And Aziraphale means it. He kisses Crawly's brow, his lips, the angular line of his jaw.

The demon bucks his hips clearly egging him on. "Harder, angel, faster-- harder!"

And Aziraphale sinks until there's not an inch of his cock outside Crawly, a punishing pace in every thrust, fucking the demon into the mat that Aziraphale had miracled plusher. Just for him. Just for them.

Crawly's own cock bounces over his stomach, leaking and throbbing, and Aziraphale will tend to that. Will swallow him down to the base, while he lets Crawly, sweet Crawly, to clutch at his hair, spilling apologies and praises while Aziraphale's nose is buried in those red pubes of him. Smelling his musk, licking him with a hunger he hasn't discovered until now.

"Aziraphale, oh, angel! Like that--  _ oh, _ " Crawly cries out when Aziraphale rolls his hips and hits his prostate. Just like Crawly likes it. Just like Aziraphale knows.

Aziraphale pushes Crawly's legs back by his thighs for leverage, pounding into him, moulding Crawly's arse for his cock and no one else's. And the mere, flitting idea of that scenario makes something awful bloom inside him.

Crawly grinds, perfect hips jerking in a circular motion and Aziraphale gets completely wrecked, spurts of hot come burying deep inside Crawly and a blasphemy echoing in his ears.

The demon pets his hair, while Aziraphale rests, ear pressed to the exact same place that has received the weight of his head so many times by now. The buzz of his ears recedes, the rush of his blood quieting and he grounds himself in the sound of Crawly's heart. He extends a hand and slips his fingers between Crawly's thighs where his own spend is dribbling out of Crawly's hole. 

"Are you okay, angel?" Crawly asks softly, with those eyes like stars.

Aziraphale wants to say something. Wants to utter the swirl of half conclusions and self doubts and tell him that he is so not okay.

This will end. They will part. Crawly will forget this.

But he doesn't manage to croak but a weak  _ 'Yes, dear' _ . And well. It's probably just a passing sensation. It will fade.

It will.

* * *

It occurs to Aziraphale around day thirty two that not all demons are quite like this and if so was the case, Heaven wouldn't stand a chance.

He's watching Crawly feed an apple to the last unicorn, a beautiful beast that has grown fond of his fiery demon. Crawly's hair has reached the middle of his back and it's a perfect frame for that chiseled face made of marble. Looking at them, it strikes Aziraphale like a punch to the jaw, how beautiful his lover is. 

And Aziraphale wonders how something so utterly divine, so positively good and right, something as lovely and gentle could've survived the charring, mangling pain of Hell.

He wonders, also, with a sense of urgency what's this feeling clawing at his chest when he thinks about the Ark reaching port. 

He wonders if Crawly feels the same. 

Crawly all sunny smiles, and brash joy, tumbling over him at night, taking Aziraphale inside him without question, trusting, so trusting---

"I can't believe I let her partner get away," Crawly says sitting next to the angel, leaning on Aziraphale's shoulder.

Ah. The constant thorn in Crawly's side. It'd cost a quite great deal of time and several tears for the demon to finally understand.

Aziraphale winds up an arm around Crawly's middle and brings him to his lap. "It wasn't your fault, dear, we were all there."

"But--"

"In any case if you want to blame someone, blame Shem."

"I like him the least of all of them, angel. I'm not going to lie."

"So demonic of you, dearest, to dislike someone. Good for you." Aziraphale nuzzles Crawly's neck and the demon laughs, turning to face him. 

His legs open wide, to accommodate the angel between them. Aziraphale kisses him, urgently, pushing up his tunic to his waist and freezes when he finds no cock there.

"Wh--"

"I thought to try something new," Crawly says taking Aziraphale's hand and guiding him there. It's hot and wet, tightening around his fingers in the most delicious way when he breaches inside. "It's a cunt. Do you like it?"

Aziraphale only has to think half a second before answering. 

"My dear, I like anything as long as it's you."

"Oh good, I had my doubts."

"Let's try it then."

Crawly nods and balances over Aziraphale's pulsing dick. He sinks slow, face going through different stages of wonder as Aziraphale slips inside. 

"It feels--"

" _ Amazing _ ," Aziraphale says. And he has to gulp down his desire of bury himself wildly in that wet heat.

Crawly rises and falls once, dragging a moan of their throats at unison.

"It's a bit different," Crawly gasps.

"Different good or different bad?," Aziraphale moans mid-thrust.

"Good,  _ oh-- _ "

Aziraphale rocks his hips upwards burying himself to the hilt. 

"Oh, Crawly, you feel so good," he says clasping the demon's hips with greedy hands. "So hot, so tight, perfect-- just perfect."

Crawly struggles to gain purchase on the line of Aziraphale's shoulders and commits to the effort of bounce on Aziraphale's cock, impaling himself on him.

And it's a first time all over again. A first time with a known body, that shudders and shivers in Aziraphale's arms when he angles his hips and hits where he should.

Crawly yelps when he brushes the upper part of his labia in a forceful downstroke and his own hand finds soon a spot that's new for the both of them.

Aziraphale swats his hand away, because it has to be him the one to discover every inch of skin, every stroke of flesh under his fingertips. And so he reaches a small nub and presses.

"There! Angel, right there!"

Aziraphale circles the clit with his thumb, feeling his dick stretching Crawly wide for him.

"Like-- like that?" 

"Yes!  _ Oh _ , angel, touch me,  _ just like that _ ." He leans forward and kisses Aziraphale, slinging his arms around his neck.

"I can't-- Crawly--  _ I can't--" _

Crowley stares at him. Yellow eyes searing through. "Come, come inside me-- fill me up,  _ angel _ ."

It hadn't been a time, except for the first, clumsy attempt, when Crawly's pliant body hasn't received to the last drop of his seed, in his mouth or his arse. And yet, to hear him saying it, it's always enough to undo him.

Aziraphale comes with a grunt, while Crawly's body goes taut, his inner muscles clenching around Aziraphale and milking him dry. 

It takes long, too long seconds for them to come down from their bliss, and buried here, in this wooden womb for humanity, Aziraphale hopes for something new to be born.

He stands, carrying Crawly with him, cock half hard slipping out from the demon and reaches their mat. 

They lay down, and Aziraphale makes sure to unrobe them both and press every bit of his flesh against Crawly, because any other thing, feels like a sin.

"How many more days?" Crawly asks, but his voice is dark this time.

"Eight or so," says Aziraphale and he forces the words to skirt around the lump in his throat.

They fall asleep clasping at each other, every bit they could find, without uttering a word.

* * *

His orders came the day before. There's land again. The Ark's ready to dock.

Crawly has spent a good chunk of the day pensively braiding the unicorn's hair.

Aziraphale's thoughts are impossible to parse. He wishes-

And what good is to think about what he wants? He can't follow that path.

He's an angel and he  _ can't  _ love a demon and he isn't one to throw himself over his metaphysical sword expecting for said demon to love him back. Everybody knows demon's can't love.

And love is too big of a word for what they had. He's fond of Crawly, that much is true. To trudge forward is nonsensical. 

"Aziraphale?" Crawly sits next to him, a feet of space between them. And it feels like a chasm already.

Above them, he can hear Noah and his family making preparations to desembark.

"Yes?"

"I've been thinking."

"Something in particular?"

"Yes."

He wants to turn and face him, but the burning desire to do so is what tilts the scale against it.

Crawly stands, walks to the unicorn again and Aziraphale yearns to bury a hand through that beloved hair and count every strand, revel in its gleam. And soon it'll be gone.  _ Gone _ .

"I-- I love you, angel."

It's the impossibility of the statement what chafes his heart, makes it bleed. It's stupid and Crawly is pushing boundaries Aziraphale needs rebuilt by yesterday.

"Don't say that-- just,  _ no _ ."

"It's true!"

"Stop there! Are you listening to yourself? Demons can not love!"

Crawly's soft expression shifts. "Who says that?"

"God herself!"

The steady smile on Crawly's face vanishes for good. "I do not listen to Her. Demon, remember?"

"There are some things that can't be changed," Aziraphale says ignoring the crack inside him.

Crawly, gulps. Aziraphale sees the bobbing of his throat, a simil of many nights before and his mouth goes dry.

"Right," says Crawly. "Right."

By the time Aziraphale whips himself out of his stupidity, it's too late.

Crawly's gone, never to be seen again.

* * *

It's hot in the Golgotha. And dry and horribly depressing. 

Aziraphale wonders for the umptenth time, while watching Yoshua bleed to death, why Heaven's ways seem designed by Satan himself when a shiver wrecks his spine. A presence he hasn't felt in millenia slithers to his left.

The surprise almost knocks him off his feet. 

Crawly is there. 

But he's not smiling, not a smidge. There's not a single trace of sweetness, of wonder. The abaya covers him almost entirely and his voice is clipped, formal. Acting as if he weren't more than acquaintances. 

And after three thousand years, they probably are.

The blow lands like a stone on his head.

"It's Crowley now," he says and he's right. He's someone else entirely.

When Yoshua draws his last breath, Crowley is gone.

* * *

"I should've trusted what I felt," Aziraphale says, an arm thrown carelessly over Crowley's naked chest. "I should've trusted you."

"Mmm? What are you talking about, angel? Not to say you're wrong--"

Aziraphale kisses Crowley's jaw, the curve of his shoulder. "Noah's ark."

"Nah, angel, don't sweat it. You didn't even know me well enough."

"I did!"

"Nope. We just fucked around. Literally." Crowley turns on his side, weaves a hand through soft blond curls. "I shouldn't have said that, so  _ tots _ my fault."

"No, no, dear, it wasn't your fault. I was in the wrong."

Aziraphale plants a soft kiss on Crowley's lips.

"I didn't want you to change so radically."

Crowley looks at him quizzically. "I didn't change, angel. I just-- I said to myself that it didn't matter how much time it took, I was going to make you believe me," Crowley says. "Just tuned me down a bit, that's all."

Aziraphale buries his nose in the crook of Crowley's neck and sighs. A deep, chest heaving sigh. 

"Hey, what's wrong?" Crowley asks, kissing the crown of Aziraphale's head.

"I don't deserve you."

"What are you even on?"

"It's true--"

"No, no, zip it. Angel, you can't blame yourself for that. You didn't have reasons to doubt the tossers above-- had all the reasons to distrust me and yet-- Aziraphale you gave yourself to me, no mind the sex, you cared about me without even knowing me. It doesn't get better than that."

The words pour from Aziraphale's mouth unbidden. "I love you, dearest, above anything-- anyone. I love you."

"I know, angel. I know." Crowley slots his mouth into the angel's, deft tongue parting his lips. And it's  _ right, right, right _ . All them.

"Now, if you want, we can re enact the whole thing-- reverse roles and all," Crowley says, a little out of breath.

"You, my demon," Aziraphale says with a smile, "are incorregible."

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  



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